


After the Fire

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Burns, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Fever, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, POV Curufin, just leave it there before I go overboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: The Dagor Bragollach is lost, the Pass of Aglon has been breached, and Curufin and Celegorm are fleeing south to an uncertain destination.And if that's not misfortune enough, it can always get worse.





	After the Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/gifts).



> Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write for this fandom, and about these two. I hope this satisfies at least most of your desires. 
> 
> I've chosen to use Quenya names in speaking, with "Tyelko" for Celegorm and "Curvo" for Curufin, and Sindar for narration, though it's important to me to note that almost certainly Curufin thinks in Quenya. A heartfelt thank you to my beta for reading this over in advance of posting and giving me some very helpful advice. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The battle had been a complete, unmitigated disaster. 

There was no way around it. All the ground they’d gained, lost. The Siege of Angband was finished, their forces decimated. Two of Arafinwë’s get were dead; Curufin, his son, and his brother, along with what was left of their forces, were fleeing south, the Pass of Aglon they’d held for centuries breached. Morgoth’s forces - orcs, Balrogs, and the new fiendish creations vomited forth out of Angband - were sweeping south in numbers beyond counting, Beleriand’s defenses shattered before the force of the sudden onslaught.

Curufin had not heard anything of their brothers.

Celegorm was the first to speak what Curufin knew was true, the shoulder of his clothing cut away so it didn’t chafe against the bandaging covering what must be a massive burn. “We need to make for Nargothrond, and Findarato,” he said. “If any fortress will hold, his will, and if we can reach him before the horde…”

If they did not, he left unspoken, then they would all be dead anyway.

Curufin exhaled and nodded. “Then we go south,” he said. “And hope our cousin will take us in.”

Celegorm blinked. “Is that in doubt?” 

“I assume nothing when it comes to our cousins,” Curufin said. “And try to expect anything.” Celegorm’s eyebrows furrowed, but a moment later he shook his head and smiled wryly, tiredly.

“Ever suspicious, Curvo,” he said. “But if that decision is made...let’s move. I’d sooner not wait here until Morgoth’s horde finds us.”

“Yes,” Curufin said. “Get our people on their feet and we’ll be off.” He paused, and gestured at his brother’s shoulder. “Have you had that looked at?” 

“I had it bandaged, didn’t I? It isn’t as bad as it looks.” Celegorm grinned, the expression almost feral. “You should see what I did to the creature that dealt it.” 

The corner of Curufin’s mouth tilted upward. “I am sure it didn’t survive to boast of the achievement.” 

“No,” Celegorm said. “It did not.” He stood and strode off; the hound lying nearby rose and padded after him. Curufin checked his weapons and looked toward the south. 

They’d grown complacent in the years of peace. Less vigilant, less careful. And this was the cost.

It was not a mistake Curufin intended to make again.

* * *

They made good time. Celegorm took the rear, keeping an eye out for pursuit, or for enemy scouts who could bear word of their position back to their master. Curufin took lead, charting their course south, and Celebrimbor joined him, though they spoke little. The skies were yet smudged with smoke, the northern horizon rimmed with red from still-burning fires.

They marched through the day, and Curufin only saw Celegorm when they halted for a rest as the sun went down. He rode up on his horse, Huan alongside, and dismounted gracefully. His armor was spattered with dark blood, but he looked fresh, and uninjured, earlier wound hidden. 

“One small raiding party,” Celegorm said with a flash of teeth. “They weren’t expecting us.”

“You seem in high spirits,” Curufin said.

“It feels good to hit back.” Celegorm rested a hand on his horse’s neck and turned, whispering something in its ear. The ear flicked back and the horse trotted away.

“What did you say?”

“That she’d done well and deserved a rest,” Celegorm said. He stretched his arms overhead, and because he was used to watching his brother move Curufin noticed the stiffness in the motion, and frowned. 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore,” Celegorm said. “But good enough to swing a sword.” Curufin frowned, and Celegorm shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Curvo. I’ll duel you to prove it, if you like.”

“No,” Curufin said, “thank you for the offer, but I think I will decline.”

“I thought so.” Celegorm rubbed absently behind Huan’s ears, planting his feet when the dog leaned into his side. “Worry less about me, little brother, and more about the fact that I saw evidence of an army passing to the north of us.” Curufin narrowed his eyes, then unrolled a map and held it up. Celegorm indicated. “Here. Moving northwest.”

“Then they won’t cross our path,” Curufin said.

“Provided they don’t turn.” Celegorm’s mouth was set in a grim line. “If they do…” He paused, and then said, “if they do, I’ll hold them off. You–”

“No,” Curufin said harshly, before he could finish. The look Celegorm gave him was exasperated. 

“You could at least wait until I finish speaking to naysay me.”

“I know what you’re suggesting, and I’m rejecting it,” Curufin said. “We’ve lost enough.”

For a moment he thought Celegorm would argue, and braced himself, but his brother exhaled and glanced aside. “Very well,” he said. “Then I recommend we quicken our pace. Morgoth’s forces are scouring the north for survivors.” 

Relieved he was going to be spared that particular battle, Curufin dipped his chin. “We will,” he said. “But for now...the wounded need a rest. You should take advantage of it yourself.”

“Since you suggested it,” Celegorm said. “You’ll make sure the guard is set?” 

He scarcely waited for Curufin to nod before vanishing into his tent. The dog did not follow, but laid down with his head on his paws, intelligent eyes open and watchful. 

The hound was inside when Curufin returned, lying next to his brother who was sprawled in graceless sleep, though by the tension on his brow his dreams were less than pleasant. He stirred slightly when Curufin entered, muttered something under his breath, and subsided again.

He left him there and wrote letters instead. The messengers rode out before dawn. 

Curufin did not sleep.

* * *

The third day, they ran across the evidence of a massacre. 

Curufin was bitterly relieved by the evidence of bones and armor that indicated Edain rather than Eldar had been the victims, but it was still a nauseating sight. Morgoth’s forces were not clean killers. The corpse of one of the Enemy’s new monsters, picked at by ravens, was mingled among the charred and dismembered remains.

He found a tatter of a banner, but did not recognize the sign.

Celebrimbor rejoined him first. “No survivors,” he said simply. 

“You were looking in this?” Curufin said with a gesture, and Celebrimbor’s lips pressed together. He wasn’t pleased, but at the moment Curufin had larger problems than his son’s peace of mind.

“It can’t have happened more than a day ago,” Celebrimbor said. Curufin didn’t answer him, watching Celegorm pacing around the fringes like a wolf, face pale and tight. He circled back to Curufin eventually, and said simply, “poor bastards.” 

Curufin twitched a shoulder and glanced at his brother sideways. He looked more strained than seemed warranted, but he supposed perhaps Celegorm was wondering, as Curufin was, if there was another field like this with a banner of a seven-pointed star trampled into the mud.

“At least they weren’t ours,” he said ruthlessly. He heard Celebrimbor beside him suck in a breath. Celegorm gave him a sharp look and then a lopsided grin. 

“Always looking on the bright side, Atarinke?” 

“Something like that.” 

“And that makes it better?” Celebrimbor said, bright as sharpened steel. “It doesn’t matter that these people were slaughtered as long as they weren’t our people?”

Curufin glanced at him, considering whether or not to respond, and finally said, “it matters to me that we don’t lose more than we already have.” 

Celebrimbor’s nostrils flared. He turned on his heel and strode away from the both of them.

“Now look,” Celegorm said reproachfully. “You made him angry.” 

Curufin exhaled. “In this war, there will be deaths. I want to see to it that as few of them come from our people as possible.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Celegorm said. 

_Don’t I,_ Curufin thought a little cynically. He cracked his neck and said, “we should move on.”

Celegorm gave a short nod. “I agree,” he said. “See you tonight. Wish me good hunting.”

“Hopefully the hunting won’t be good,” Curufin said. “That’s rather the goal, isn’t it? _Not_ to be found?” 

“Mostly,” Celegorm said, “but I wouldn’t object to some bloodshed.” If he hadn’t been used to it, that feral grin might have been unsettling. As it was, Curufin flicked his eyes skyward and watched his brother walk away, whistling to summon his hound from where it was sniffing about. He thought, for just a moment, that he caught a hitch in his stride, like he was about to stumble, but a moment later he wasn’t certain.

Still, a prickle on the back of his neck said _something’s wrong,_ and if that wasn’t enough to go on it was a reason to keep a close eye on Celegorm. Curufin trusted his brother, generally, but sometimes when his mind was unsettled it made him stupid, and that made him reckless, and they couldn’t afford recklessness. 

That night, Celegorm vanished into his tent almost before Curufin could greet him. He frowned at him, considered trying to rouse him, and decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable poor mood. He closed his eyes to rest himself for a short time, and dreamed of fire, and kneeling before his father’s ashes, and then it was before Celegorm’s body, watching him gasp his last breaths and unable to move. 

When he woke, his brother had already dismantled his tent and gone.

The prickling disquiet intensified.

* * *

As if to make up for the catastrophe of Morgoth’s attack, they were (for once) lucky. They skirted the edge of Melian’s Girdle, and other than scouts easily eliminated by Celegorm and the rear guard, they were spared further disaster. 

The only oddity was his brother’s behavior. He seemed distracted, standoffish, almost - though the word applied poorly - anxious. He was showing signs of exhaustion and strain, at least when Curufin saw him, which was seldom. Something was bothering him, and as usual he did not hide it well. 

It took some doing to corner him, but when he did lay eyes on him a spike of alarm drove through his chest. The strain was clearer up close.

“What is it,” he said, without preamble. Celegorm turned from where he was grooming his horse.

“What is what?” 

“Don’t be obtuse,” Curufin said. “Whatever it is bothering you.” 

Celegorm’s expression tightened. “There are a lot of answers to that question.”

“Don’t try to circumlocute either. What is the true answer?”

Celegorm sighed through his nose and looked away. “I’m just tired,” he said. “And the extent of our losses…” He trailed off, and paused. “You haven’t had word from any of the others.”

It wasn’t a question. “No.” 

“They could all be dead.”

It was the thought Curufin had been worrying at for days, circling around, but hadn’t spoken aloud. They themselves had been lucky to get away, and _lucky_ was not a term that Curufin trusted.

“It’s possible,” he said, because there was no point in denying it. Celegorm looked away from him. The dog, lying nearby, whined quietly. 

“We could be all that’s left.” It wasn’t fear, Curufin thought, on Celegorm’s face. Was sorrow, and an unnerving kind of resignation. 

“Or not,” Curufin said. Celegorm’s eyebrows knitted together and he eyed Curufin, seemingly on the point of saying something. 

Shouting arose, and Celegorm’s head whipped around. Someone cried out, “attackers approaching from the north!” and Curufin swore violently.

“Go,” Celegorm said. “Take the right, I’ll take the left.” He pulled himself up onto his horse’s back with one hand. 

The words, _be careful,_ were on the tip of Curufin’s tongue, but his brother was already riding away, weaving fast through the people now gathering their weapons, and he had his own work to do. 

The fight was short, but messy and bloody for all that. They’d been ready enough, but their losses were still too many, their number dwindling and the count of wounded growing. Mingled anger and anxiety seethed in Curufin’s chest.

He found Celebrimbor having a nasty cut on his arm bandaged and a knot he’d tried not to acknowledge loosened. 

“You’re well?” he asked. They hadn’t spoken much since their brief conversation over the bodies of the dead, but when Celebrimbor looked up he seemed relieved as well. 

“Well enough,” he said. “No more than a scratch.” He smiled tightly. “We held our own.” 

_This time. The next?_ Curufin kept his thoughts off his face. “I’m sure you honored our house,” he said. The smile loosened and warmed, just a little, then fell away.

“Where’s Tyelkormo?” 

“Finishing off the stragglers, I imagine,” Curufin said. “I intend to go find him now.” 

Celebrimbor nodded. Curufin hesitated a moment longer, moved to rest his hand lightly on his son’s shoulder and then whistled for his horse.

He found his brother on foot, weaving through the bodies of the fallen. “They killed Hísië,” he said, voice rough with what sounded like pain. “Cut her out from under me. I killed them, though.” His teeth flashed. “A _lot_ of them.”

Curufin dismounted and strode toward him. Celegorm was listing slightly, though he straightened as Curufin approached. 

“I may,” he said, a strange expression passing over his face, “have made a mistake.”

Curufin’s stride checked for a moment, dread rising. “Tyelko?” he said. Celegorm’s grey eyes looked glassy and Curufin’s heart lurched.

“I thought I’d have longer,” Celegorm said unhappily, and folded. Curufin lunged forward with a cry and caught him, heart pounding. He was still breathing, his heart beating, but he was pale and there was pain etched around his mouth, his eyes lightly closed. 

“Someone help me!” Curufin cried. “My brother is wounded!”

* * *

Curufin paced back and forth, eyes on his still unconscious brother. The stained bandages were piled in a corner, the wound for now laid bare to breathe: a burn that spread from collarbone over his shoulder, and down across his chest. And it wasn’t new.

Curufin remembered seeing the bandages. Celegorm’s brushing off his concern. 

Whatever creature had dealt the damage must have borne some poison or corruption. He could see it, in the threads of black spreading out from the burn itself - some evil infection taking root in his brother’s flesh. It must have been festering for days. The pain could not have been insignificant. 

And Celegorm had hidden it. Borne it unspoken all this time.

How had he not _seen?_

Celegorm stirred, one of his eyes opening, and Curufin stopped his pacing. “Tyelkormo,” he said.

“Full name,” Celegorm said. “That’s...a bad sign.” 

“You _idiot,_ ” Curufin said, with feeling. Celegorm chuffed.

“So you’ve told me before,” he said. “And probably will again. It’s not that bad.” He started to push himself up only to stop with a hiss. Curufin just looked at him, and Celegorm turned his eyes upward. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” Curufin said flatly. 

“Like you’re scared,” Celegorm said. “It’s unnerving. Curvo? Frightened? Impossible.” 

Curufin grit his teeth. “This isn’t a joke,” he said, “and you aren’t entertaining. There is corruption in the wound. It needs to be drawn out.” 

“No,” Celegorm said. Curufin narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he repeated. Celegorm grimaced.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m your elder.” Curufin didn’t bother to respond to that, and Celegorm turned on his side. His eyes were hard. “We don’t have time, Curvo, and you know it. We need to keep moving. For the sake of the wounded, the survivors, your _son_...we don’t have time to spare, and you need me on my feet. Besides, we don’t have the resources.”

“I’ll find the resources. And you aren’t on your feet. If you tried to get on a horse right now you’d fall off.”

“Would not,” Celegorm said. Curufin didn’t bother to respond to that, either. 

“Now isn’t the time for noble self-sacrifice.” 

“When have I ever been one for noble self-sacrifice?” Celegorm said. “I _like_ living. But the fact is...the fact is that my best chances, all of our best chances, lie in reaching Nargothrond.” He paused, and said, quieter, “think of our people.”

His jaw tightened. _And what of my brother,_ he thought. _Can I think of him?_

Celegorm’s gaze was steady, for all his face was drawn with pain. “What would our father do,” he said.

It was a ploy, and a transparent one, but it still cut deep. _I say that we will go on._

“Fine,” Curufin said. “But you do not ride. You do not fight.”

“As my lord commands,” Celegorm said. Curufin glared at him. 

“Don’t,” he said. “If you abandon me to face Findaráto alone, I will drag you out of Mandos’ clutches to kill you myself.”

Celegorm’s lips twitched in a weary smile, but apparently he had reached the limit of his energy. He slumped back and closed his eyes. 

Another hour of rest, Curufin told himself. Just that long. Then they would move on. 

He drew out a map and plotted their course to Nargothrond. Measuring the distance, the time. 

Measuring how long it would take the corruption to reach his brother’s heart.

* * *

Celegorm stayed upright with the unbelievable obstinacy that Curufin might have expected. They argued about it - “do you really think I’m making it worse?” Celegorm said, and Curufin snapped, “yes!” - but until the day Celegorm could not stand on his own, unsupported, they were arguments Curufin lost. 

Curufin pushed Celegorm down to sitting and bared his shoulder. There was a faint odor of something foul, the black threads stretched out further, the skin surrounding red and hot to the touch. Celegorm hissed in a breath when Curufin touched it and jerked away.

“That _hurts._ ”

“I can imagine,” Curufin said tightly. “If it feels half as bad as it looks.” He covered it over again, studying his brother. He looked...pale, drained of color but for the fever-flush, his eyes dulled. Curufin had seen Secondborn fall victim to sickness like this, the heat burning through them, killing them in the blink of an eye.

Three days to Nargothrond. Two, if they moved fast.

Celegorm shoved at him with his good arm and started to stand, only to fall back, grimacing and letting out a string of vulgar curses. Curufin waited him out.

“No more riding,” he said, when Celegorm subsided. “You _rest._ ”

Celegorm scowled. “I can still-”

“No,” Curufin interrupted. “You can’t. You can barely stand. You’re running a fever. Don’t be stupid.”

Celegorm grinned at him. “When am I ever anything else?” 

Curufin didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. “Tyelko.” 

He lapsed into silence. Huan padded over and put his head on his knee. “Fine,” Celegorm said, his voice quieter. “Fine. Since you’re going to bully me into it anyway.” 

“Yes,” Curufin said. “I am.”

When he went to check on Celegorm later in the day, his eyes were closed, but he could see rapid movement under the lids. Dreaming, and Curufin doubted it was pleasant.

* * *

That night he had Celegorm brought to his tent where he could watch him. He roused briefly, long enough to drink some water before lapsing back into sleep or unconsciousness. Curufin hoped it was for the purpose of healing, all his strength devoted to battling the poison seeping deeper into him.

Huan poked his head inside, and stopped, as though awaiting permission. Curufin stared at him, hovering on the edge of shooing him away, but...whatever Curufin’s opinion on the Valar’s creature, he and Celegorm were close. “Go on, then,” he said. 

Huan walked in and over to Celegorm, pushing his grey snout into his face, licking his cheek and then turning in two circles to lie down next to him. The dog laid his head on his paws and whined. He and Curufin looked at each other and Curufin bit back the absurd urge to ask what _he_ thought he should have done differently. 

Watched more carefully, was the answer. Guarded more closely. 

“Curvo,” Celegorm said, and Curufin turned sharply toward him. His eyes were open to slits, and he looked like he was struggling to focus.

“Yes?”

Celegorm blinked at him. “You worry too much,” he said. Curufin stared at him and then let out a strangled sound that failed to be a laugh. 

“I _worry_ too much?” 

“Hmm.” Celegorm gave him a bit of a smile - warm and open and easy, and it hurt seeing. “Absolutely. Comes of thinking too much.”

“Someone has to take your share of both,” Curufin said. Celegorm huffed, dropping one hand down to brush against Huan like he was confirming that the dog was still there. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. 

“I know you will,” Curufin said. “You’re far too stubborn not to be.”

“I am too beautiful to die,” Celegorm said with confidence. 

_But you are going to,_ Curufin thought. _We all are. Condemned as surely as if we were Secondborn. Maybe not now, but..._ He held his tongue and simply said, “oh, naturally.” Celegorm wheezed a laugh and closed his eyes again. 

“This is a setback,” he murmured. “Not the end.” 

_Setback,_ Curufin thought, was a mild way of putting it. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asked abruptly. “Why pretend you weren’t hurt?” 

“You knew I was hurt.”

“Don’t mince words. I didn’t know how badly.” 

Celegorm sighed out and said, “I told you. You worry too much.” 

Something burst. “Our father is dead,” Curufin said. “Two of our cousins perished in flame this very week, and I have no idea how many of our brothers didn’t survive the conflagration. I _worry,_ as you put it, because it seems the best way to keep our family alive. I would rather worry than die ignorant.” 

“You die either way,” Celegorm said. “Seems better not to be miserable first.”

Curufin stared at him for several moments before saying, “it isn’t that simple.” 

“Not for you,” Celegorm murmured. Curufin sighed and stood up, pacing across the tent and then back. He knew what others might say in this situation, and what he wanted to, in some ways. _I cannot afford to lose you._

He looked at the dog again, who thumped his tail twice against the ground, and then back at his brother.

“Rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you at sunrise.”

“Mmhm,” Celegorm said, already half-gone. Curufin bowed his head and breathed slowly, trying to empty out his thoughts.

They were close - only a day or at most two - but Nargothrond yet felt a long ways away. And even once they reached it…there was no guarantee that they would be welcome. Finrod might be family, but those bonds had long been strained, and only spun finer in the exile. Curufin tried to avoid undue optimism, and in these bleak days most optimism felt undue.

Celegorm tossed and turned, somewhere between waking and unconsciousness, and Curufin watched him and worried.

* * *

_What will you do if Findarato turns you away?_

The question came to him as he staggered forward, supporting Celegorm at his side. He was barely staying upright, but he’d insisted: _I will not meet our cousin on my back,_ he said. _I can stand. And if you try to leave me behind, I will follow you, and it will be your fault when I collapse alone and die._

So here they were. He’d left Celebrimbor with the rest of their people nearby. Nargothrond was hidden, but surely - _surely_ \- Finrod would know that they were there, and not leave them stranded. 

_And if he does? If he does not even bother to come forth to give answer?_

“He’ll come,” Celegorm said, as though he’d heard Curufin’s thoughts. His voice was blurry, the words slurring together. “He’s too _decent_ not to.”

“Was, perhaps,” Curufin said. “We’ve all changed.”

_Where will you go, if this fails? And what of your brother?_

Celegorm leaned heavily into him, breathing hard. “Do you hear that?” he said, voice faint. “Horses.”

He folded.

Curufin caught him as the first horse came through the trees. The face of the Elf riding it was unreadable but far from friendly; his fingers itched for his sword but he held them still. They were here as supplicants, and anyway he could not draw without dropping Celegorm, who seemed barely conscious. His body burned (as their father had burned, as the ships had burned). 

Another horse arrived, a pale grey, and its rider swung gracefully down. Blond hair gleamed, his face exactly as Curufin remembered it unless it was slightly harder. Their eyes met.

“The Pass of Aglon is lost,” Curufin said. “My brother - your cousin - is wounded. We have flown south seeking refuge. Will you grant it?” 

Finrod regarded him, expression unreadable. Curufin tensed.

“Do you have news of my brothers?” he asked at last. 

Curufin lowered his eyes. “I am sorry.” 

Finrod’s sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but whatever wound he felt, he still did not show it. There was a strange look on his face, as though he was seeing something other than what lay in front of him. Then he blinked, and locked eyes with Curufin, and there was an anger there that took him by surprise.

“You ask _me_ for refuge?” he said. “When you and yours abandoned us on the hither shores?” 

Curufin did not flinch. “We fought,” he said. “In the north, we fought, we _died_ to protect your people here.”

“And if the Enemy’s forces follow you to our door? What then?” 

“I know you do not have a heart of iron,” Curufin said, strained. “We have wounded. We have women, and children. We–” He took a harsh breath and spoke the words he’d feared to say, as though saying them would make it so. “I fear that Tyelkormo is dying.”

His brother was heavy in his arms. He couldn’t read the look on Finrod’s face.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then knelt. “Cousin,” Curufin said, “ _please._ ”

Finrod’s eyes closed as though he was resigning himself to a burden he did not want to accept. “Yes,” he said. “Be welcome. We will give you rest, and healing.” He moved forward, slowly, and reached down to place one hand on Celegorm’s brow. His eyes met Curufin’s.

“It’s not too late,” he said, and Curufin bowed his head, feeling as though he could breathe once again. Celegorm’s eyes opened to slits.

“We made it, then,” he said, voice weak and blurry. 

“Yes,” Curufin said, an ache under his sternum. “We made it.”


End file.
